by Linda Madl
"Did you find it?” Brenna asked, shaking Leandra's arm to break into her thoughts. “Did you find the antidote?"
"The antidote?” Leandra looked at her cousin, who leaned forward, regarding her with unexpected eagerness, as if the future of the world depended on her answer. Brenna's concern touched her. “No, we found no antidote. Master Thomas couldn't help us."
"Oh, no.” Brenna sat back and chewed on her lip in uncharacteristic anxiety. “I wish he had. I mean, that would have been the perfect answer."
"Garrett was so angry that he threw the phial into a stream along the way,” Leandra said. “'Twould be best for us to stay away from him."
"You mean, I should stay away from him,” Brenna translated, a rebellious gleam returning to her dark eyes. Her remorse seemed forgotten.
"He has a right to be angry, you know,” Leandra said. “What you did was very unfair to us. If Garrett were not such a strong, honorable man, it could have spelled disaster for us and Lyonesse."
"I know. But he is a strong man.” Brenna's bottom lip began to tremble as it always did before the tears rolled down her cheek. She hung her head and clasped her hands in a penitent gesture. “All is well, is it not?"
"It will be.” Leandra found herself eyeing her cousin suspiciously, uncertain whether Brenna truly felt as dejected as she looked. “We'll arrive at Tremelyn tomorrow. Amid the guests and the festivities, it won't be difficult to stay away from Sir Garrett. Stay out of Sir Leofric's company as well. He's planning something. I just wish I knew what it was."
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Chapter Eighteen
"BLESSED MOTHER,” BRENNA gasped, her mouth gaping as they rode into view of Tremelyn. “'Tis bigger by two times than Lyonesse with the village."
Blue and white swallow-tailed pennons fluttered in welcome from all towers of the earl's castle. Leandra reined in her horse alongside Brenna's to stare at the white, carved stone battlements gleaming in the spring sun.
A prosperous village spread itself at the foot of the castle mount. From where they'd halted, Leandra could look down on cobbled streets winding between half-timber houses. A stone Norman church loomed on one side of the market square, and the water-powered mill stood beside a bubbling stream just beyond the town wall.
"Just think, cousin.” Brenna turned a new look of appreciation on Leandra. “You will be lady of it all."
"Countess,” Leandra corrected, as much for her own benefit as her cousin's. The place ‘twas grander than anything she'd ever expected to be mistress of. Today, after a sleepless night with Garrett's farewell echoing through her dreams, she could only look at that imposing castle and think of herself as a prisoner there.
"Countess,” Brenna echoed thoughtfully. “Leandra, Countess of Tremelyn. That sounds lofty."
To Leandra, the title sounded cold and not at all how she wanted to be known for the rest of her life. It sounded like the name of another woman, a stranger, a lady of years with pinched lines at the corner of her mouth. A dry woman, icy and unspeakably alone.
She shivered.
"Well, if Lord Reginald is really as eager to see you as he would have us believe yesterday, he will ride out to meet you.” Brenna locked her gaze on the castle gate. “Not wait until we have paraded through the streets."
Ahead of them riders jostled about and horses stamped hooves, but the line didn't move forward.
Brenna leaned out from her saddle to spy the trouble. “Here he comes, Sir Perfect. Inspection time."
Leandra watched Garrett, with Wystan at his side, ride back down the line, his mouth set in a forbidding line, his gaze flicking over each man and horse, instantly spotting out-of-place tack, sloppy tunics, unpolished armor. He snapped orders to each offender. The deep furrow in his brow made it clear that he would tolerate no excuse.
When he reached her, he reined in his charger. She met his sober, demanding gaze with silence.
In the day since their trip to Exeter, a change had come over him. He'd become a faultless escort: cool, courteous, and distant. She found no humor in his eyes, no hint of a smile on his lips.
He greeted her and Brenna with a grudging nod. “Ladies. Do you wish to pause to refresh yourselves before your ride through the village and into the castle? The people will line the way to see their new lady."
His frown was so daunting. Did she look that bad? She almost raised her hand to smooth her braid before she realized what she was doing. She glared back at him and inwardly cursed the heat of embarrassment that burned in her cheeks. She would not be ordered about like one of his men.
"Has a wart grown on my nose since I looked in my mirror this morning?” she snapped.
Brenna laughed. Wystan paled.
Garrett's frown deepened. “No, my lady. I wished only to offer you the opportunity to prepare yourself to meet your betrothed."
"So kind of you, sir, but there is no need.” She purposely turned away to look at the castle. “I'm quite ready to meet Lord Reginald. I see no reason to delay."
As if on some signal in Leandra's words, a trumpet fanfare blared from the castle's battlements. The town gates parted. A flock of riders spilled forth in a bright flurry of blue banners and gay finery. Jewels flashed in the sun, and the bells of caparisoned horses jingled.
"'Tis him.” Brenna bounced in her saddle like an excited child. “And all his nobles. See? Lord Reginald rides at the head on the white horse. Look how tall he is. Square-shouldered for such an old man, I think. Lord, have mercy, I hope he likes you, Leandra."
Garrett glared at Brenna, the venom in his expression so potent that Leandra almost threw herself between the two. Even in her excitement, Brenna saw the dangerous look and shrank into her saddle, her mouth clamped shut.
Without another word, Garrett rode away to hail his liege lord.
As Leandra watched the two men, she fingered the ring she had found among her few jewels to wear in place of her betrothal ring until she could reclaim it from Leofric. Meeting Lord Reginald could not be put off any longer. Perhaps she should have taken a few minutes to freshen her appearance. She prayed that he would find her pleasing. For now she possessed no potion to ensure the outcome of her marriage.
Tall on his horse, the Earl of Tremelyn rode easily, wearing a merry countenance. As the portrait promised, his beard was a distinguished gray and his smiling eyes were a warm brown. Befitting the occasion, his tunic was of rich blue samite, and his white horse was decked in blue and gold.
With a tinge of jealous disappointment, Leandra understood Garrett's unswerving loyalty to the man. The earl was a lord to be proud of—a worthy seigneur and no doubt a reliable benefactor, to whom any knight would be proud to swear undying fealty. A lord husband to whom any woman would be pleased to pledge her faithfulness.
"Lady Leandra, at last you have arrived,” Lord Reginald called to her after giving Garrett only the briefest of greetings. He rode toward her, his voice warm and hearty, full of pleasure. He showed no concern about a formal introduction. “We've been concerned for you. Ah, here is your delightful cousin, Lady Brenna."
He doffed his cap and bowed in an endearingly humble manner, revealing a receding hairline that gave his noble face a broad, intelligent brow. “I trust, Lady Brenna, that you are as well as you were when we last met. Lady Leandra, your cousin entertained me most charmingly yesterday."
Brenna smiled coyly, an unusual maidenly blush staining her cheeks. “'Tis fine to see you again, my lord, and I assure you ‘twas my pleasure to play and sing for you."
"I'm so glad you were well-amused, my lord.” Leandra cast a quick, uncertain glance at Brenna. Just how had her cousin entertained him? Dancing? Singing? Brenna hadn't bothered to tell her that. “Indeed, I'm sorry I missed meeting you then. But there was an errand—"
"So I understand, for your father,” Lord Reginald supplied. “Your daughterly devotion is admirable. Now you are here. The festivities can begin in earnest. First, we will ride through the town. The people are
eager to see you."
He urged his horse closer and leaned toward Leandra, examining her face at length. Embarrassed by his scrutiny, she looked down at her hands and held her breath. Had a wart indeed popped up on her nose?
He held out his left hand to her, fingers extended. “I wanted you to see that I wear your betrothal ring that Sir Garrett sent ahead. A circle of finely carved oak, ‘tis a fitting jewel to come from Lyonesse."
Leandra stared at the ring he wore, suddenly terrified that he would see that the ring she wore was but a poor substitute. “It has meant more to me than you know to wear your ring,” she mumbled.
"Are you well, my dear?” He took little interest in the ring on her finger. “Are you recovered from your illness?"
"Thank you for your concern, my lord. I'm quite recovered.” She forced herself to smile at him, as clumsy as the expression seemed. “Please lead the way. I'm as eager to greet the people of Tremelyn as they are to see me."
Lord Reginald slapped his thigh and grinned. “That's good to hear.” He waved to the party riding behind him: a swarm of feather-capped lords, wimpled ladies, and spur-sporting knights. Their well-fed faces looked so alike to her that she despaired of ever learning all of their names and titles.
One of the party, a rider in purple, lifted a hand in greeting. Sunlight glinted off a gold ring on the little finger of his bare hand and caught Leandra's eye. Startled, she looked closer.
"Hello, lady neighbor,” Leofric called, a smirk on his lips.
She nearly choked. He dared to taunt her with the ring? Carefully forcing fear and guilt from her mind, she glanced at Reginald, who turned his horse around to ride at her side. Leofric seemed to go unnoticed. Reginald smiled at her once more, pride and pleasure obvious in his expression.
"Shall we show ourselves to the people, my lady?” Lord Reginald asked. “No, Lady Brenna, please don't drop behind. Ride alongside us. The people of Tremelyn will be glad to welcome my bride's kinswoman."
"As you please, my lord.” Brenna colored to the roots of her dark hair and grinned broadly at Reginald. Leandra realized the earl had already learned that Brenna hungered to be admired.
"So kind of you, my lord.” Leandra urged her horse forward along side Reginald's. He held her hand high so that the crowd could see that she was his intended. She felt all eyes upon her, measuring her worthiness.
"Leandra!” hissed Brenna, pinching her arm. “Smile."
Leandra clenched her teeth together and stretched her lips upward in what she hoped looked like a smile. With resolve, she avoided looking in Leofric's direction.
Church bells pealed. Through the gate and into the town they rode. People crowded in around their horses, cheering, waving, and tossing flowers. Some walked along, keeping pace with the horses and shouting salutations.
Leandra briefly glanced over her shoulder, looking for Garrett, wondering whether he saw her betrothal ring on Leofric's finger. But like the men-at-arms, he'd fallen back, disappearing in the crush of guests and well-wishers. The knight and his guard had done their work.
She faced forward, her expression suddenly stiff with the counterfeit smile. In her heart she died a little. Garrett was already gone from her life, though his departure for France was weeks away. Oh, she would see him again among the wedding guests. He might take her hand and say a few polite words. But there would be no secret exchange between them; he would never dishonor Reginald that way. Was there nothing left to them but this painful fading from each other's lives?
Reginald's grip on her fingers tightened. She could feel his eyes upon her. When she turned to him, he patted her arm. He meant to give her courage. What a dear man he was. He deserved so much more than she was going to be able to give him. To please him, she tried earnestly for a genuine smile. But she knew no amount of courage or smiling would change the truth in her heart.
* * * *
FLAGS, FLOWERS, AND boughs of greenery decked the castle and the entire town for the arrival of Leandra of Lyonesse.
Brenna craned her neck to see it all, the greenery above the castle doors and on the window sills. No countess-to-be could have expected more. She frowned at Leandra, wishing her cousin would at least make an attempt to appear happy.
"You are going to have to do better than this,” she fussed as soon as the door of their bedchamber closed behind them. But Leandra merely swept past her, sank down onto the bed and buried her face in a pillow.
"You've always been humorless, Leandra, but this is strange, even for you. Are you still ill? If you don't snap out of this, Lord Reginald is going to send us home and seek a more agreeable bride. And then where will I be?"
She eyed her gloomy cousin. Returning to Lyonesse held no appeal and, more importantly, offered no future.
"Leofric wore my ring. Did you see it?” Leandra muttered without raising her head from the satin-covered cushion. “I must think of a way to get it back. Then all will be well."
"Is that all?” Brenna put a hand on her cousin's brow. “You're not feverish. But you are still pale. And you seem chilled. What are we going to do? Reginald expects us downstairs shortly to receive the guests. Did you see all those people come to the wedding? What an important man he is. Tremelyn's notable vassals. Nobles from Wales to London flock to the castle, so ‘tis like a little king's court."
"Please get something warm for me from the kitchen,” Leandra asked. “I think a warm drink would help ward off the chill."
"Yes, that's it.” She wouldn't mind some warm refreshment for herself. “I'll find the kitchen."
"While you're gone, I'll look through your face powders and find something to help my color,” Leandra said.
"Here are my rogue pots,” Brenna volunteered. “Put some powder on your nose, a little pink on your cheeks. I'll be right back."
Brenna closed the door softly behind her and paused, torn between concern for her cousin and curiosity about the castle. Leandra was never ill. Something was terribly wrong.
At the bottom of the stairs a blue-garbed page—one of the earl's own—politely directed her out the side door of the great hall and on to the half-timber kitchen. Enthralled with her surroundings, Brenna strolled across the exercise yard and past the well, where a group of giggling laundry maids were drawing water.
Around the corner, near the front entrance of the great hall, stood a group of richly attired nobles, fine-looking men all. Brenna admired the snugness of their hose and the shortness of their fashionable jackets. Their comeliness brought a smile to her lips. One of the men dressed in yellow caught her eye and grinned encouragingly. She grinned in return. An earl's castle was truly a marvelous place.
Taking heart, the young man swept off his feathered cap and bowed in her direction. Handsome heads turned. “My lady,” he said, his invitation plain.
How she longed to join them, to toss her head, to quip some clever phrase that would make him and his fellows laugh, but she knew it wasn't proper. Not for the cousin of the bride, who had yet to be introduced to them.
Then she saw Leofric in the group. She forgot her smile and hurried on.
The rich, ripe smell of brewing grain reminded her of her real goal. She walked toward the kitchen next to the brewhouse. If she didn't find something to restore Leandra, this adventure could end for both of them.
Smoke poured from all six kitchen chimneys. At the door she dodged cooks, pages, brewers, soldiers, and grooms—many of whom were seeking the favor of an extra bite of food or a measure of ale.
Heat and the sharp scent of spices engulfed her the moment she stepped into the kitchen. A fire burned in each of the gaping hearths.
Lyonesse's kitchen boasted only two hearths, and the second one was built not long ago, upon Leandra's orders, Brenna recalled.
At the nearest hearth a perspiring kitchen scullion cranked a spit heavy with a haunch of venison. In another fireplace, kettles steamed over glowing coals. Aromas of baking bread drifted from the brick oven at the far end of the kitchen.
<
br /> She turned slowly, staring in wonder at the number of cooks and the quantity of food being prepared. In the center of the room, at a bed-sized table, women with well-muscled arms floured to the elbow worked over pastry dough.
Suddenly something or someone loomed over her shoulder, a huge presence, casting a dark, ominous shadow. Her hair prickled on the back of her neck.
"Is Leandra unwell? Does she need something? A physician?"
She instantly recognized Sir Garrett's voice, deep and velvety with the quality it took on whenever he spoke of her cousin. She ducked her head, refusing to look at him. Involuntarily her hand fluttered to protect her throat. Ever since she'd told him and Leandra that she'd given them the potion, she'd sensed his great restraint when he was near her.
She gulped, but shrugged so as to appear unconcerned. She preferred to show no fear. “She's weary and wants refreshment, nothing more."
"Are you certain? Don't mislead me."
"I'm not misleading you.” She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye and spoke out with more courage than she felt. “Do you believe me a liar? I don't deserve your dislike, sir. Leandra has forgiven me. Why can't you?"
"Leandra has a forgiving heart, and I have not. She is ill because of you.” Sir Garrett glowered. “She suffers because of your spitefulness. I should have sent you back to Lyonesse when you told us what you'd done."
Brenna almost winced, but the threat angered her. “Her ring. She suffers that loss, too. You were her guard. You let Leofric take it from her."
Sir Garrett drew a sharp breath. This time his chest broadened and his height seemed to increase by two feet.
Brenna cowered. “She needs rest and food,” she rushed to plead. “As soon as Leandra joins in the festivities, she'll be fit. She loves to hunt. She'll dance with Reginald, and everything will be well. You'll see."
"Then see to it.” Sir Garrett turned on his heel and left the kitchen.